The underground garage of the city estate was thick with the scent of burning and unspent adrenaline.
Damian stood outside the car, his posture rigid as stone. Walter and the head of security stood before him, pale under the fluorescent lights, reciting the grim details of the breach... Two guards died in the west wing, the master suite ransacked, and the wedding portrait burned to ashes in the middle of the floor.
Behind the cracked glass of the car window, Anastasia’s breath hitched. She pressed a trembling hand to her mouth, frozen in pure horror.
Damian didn’t yell. He didn’t curse. A terrifying, absolute stillness washed over him... the kind that preceded total annihilation.
"Pull every piece of surveillance from the block," Damian commanded, his baritone dropping to a lethal, arctic register. "Check the perimeter sensors, cross-reference the keycard frequency with Vance Enterprises’ decommissioned logs, and trace the extraction vehicle. If Sullivan’s men were the drivers, I want their safehouses burning by midnight."
"Understood, Mr. Sterling," the security chief answered, immediately turning to bark orders into his radio.
Walter stepped closer, keeping his voice low. "Sir, where are you taking Mrs. Sterling? The penthouse is a crime scene, and the federal investigators will crawl over every inch of it within the hour."
Damian turned his dark eyes toward the car, watching Anastasia’s pale, shaken silhouette behind the tinted glass.
"We’re going to Northwood Manor," Damian stated coldly.
Walter’s eyes widened slightly. "Your mother’s estate?"
"It’s the only fortress with private grid isolation and an independent tactical detail that hasn’t touched city networks in twenty years," Damian replied, pulling open the car door. "Have the secondary convoy escort us. No radio signals. Total blackout until we clear the gates."
He slid into the leather seat beside Ana, slamming it shut with a deafening thud.
The air inside the vehicle instantly froze. His jaw was clenched so tight the veins in his neck were visible, his obsidian eyes burning with cold, lethal fury.
Before Ana could speak, Damian leaned forward, barking an order at the front partition. "Lock down the convoy. We are not setting foot inside this house. Divert all units and drive to the Northwood estate. Now."
The driver nodded grimly, throwing the heavy vehicle into reverse and speeding out of the underground garage, followed immediately by three armored security SUVs.
Ana sat frozen, her hands trembling in her lap as the garage faded behind them. She turned to Damian, her voice barely a whisper. "Damian... I heard what Walter said. The intruder... They killed two people? They burned our portrait?"
Damian didn’t answer immediately. He reached across the seat, his large, gloved hand gripping hers with an intensity that bordered on painful. He pulled her against his side, wrapping a heavy arm around her shoulders to hold her trembling frame against his chest.
"Don’t think about it, Anastasia," Damian murmured, his tone dark and unyielding. "You’re safe."
"How can you say that?!" Ana gasped, looking up at his rigid profile. "Someone was inside our bedroom! They know the layout, they have keycards... it has to be Vivian! Where are we going?!"
"Somewhere she can never reach," Damian answered flatly, his dark gaze fixed out the window into the gathering dusk. "We’re going to my mother."
Ana sat with her knees pulled close, her hands knotted tightly in her lap. The shock was still setting in.
It felt like the walls of the world Damian had built around her were cracking, letting the venom from the outside seep straight in.
"Damian..." Ana murmured softly, turning her head toward him in the dim light of the cabin. "Was it really Vivian? How could she get inside your home?"
Damian didn’t look away from the road ahead, but his posture carried a tense, lethal focus. He reached across the console, his large, warm hand covering hers, his long fingers threading through hers with a firm, steady pressure that kept her grounded.
"She didn’t do it alone," Damian answered, his baritone low and steady, deliberately calm to keep her from spiraling. "Vivian has backing, but she chose to target the house to send a message. She wants us rattled, Anastasia. She wants us off balance."
"It worked," Ana whispered, looking down at their joined hands. "I’m terrified."
Damian turned his head then, his dark eyes locking onto hers. The cold fury that had flared in the garage was banked beneath an unshakeable, protective resolve.
"Look at me, Ana," he said quietly.
She lifted her gaze, meeting his fathomless eyes.
"You don’t need to be terrified," Damian told her, his thumb gently smoothing over the back of her knuckles. "No one is touching you. We’re going to Northwood. The estate is completely isolated, the private grid is secure, and my mother’s security detail answers only to the family."
Ana leaned back against the headrest, feeling the tension in her shoulders slowly ease under the steady weight of his hand.
"Your mother..." Ana said quietly, the thought bringing a faint, complicated stir in her chest. "Are you sure she’ll be alright with us arriving like this?"
"She already knows," Damian replied, his grip tightening just enough to reassure her.
As the car crossed the county bridge and plunged into the quiet, wooded roads leading toward the coast, Ana leaned her head against his shoulder.
Damian shifted slightly, wrapping his arm securely around her, keeping her anchored to his side as they drove into the dark of the Sterling family manor.
_________________________
The towering wrought-iron gates of Northwood Manor parted in absolute silence, allowing the car to roll up.
Unlike the glass-and-steel penthouse in the city, Northwood stood like an ancient stone fortress against the coastal wind.
Armed perimeter guards lined the courtyard, nodding sharply in deference as Damian stepped out of the vehicle and extended his hand to guide Anastasia up the broad stone steps.
Inside the grand drawing room, a fire crackled warmly in the massive hall, filling the room with the scent of aged cedar and fresh lilies.
Victoria stood near the mantle in an elegant navy dress, her posture regal but stripped of the bitter hostility she had carried years ago. Beside her, Valerie hovered nervously by the low tea table, her pale eyes wide with worry.
"You’re both unhurt," Victoria said softly, stepping forward as Damian and Ana entered. She didn’t question Anastasia’s presence or demand explanations; instead, she placed a firm, grounding hand over Ana’s arm, offering a brief, supportive squeeze. "The house is fully sealed, Anastasia. You are safe here."
"Thank you, Victoria," Ana murmured, the knot in her chest loosening just a fraction.
Valerie quickly gestured toward the plush velvet sofa facing the fire. "Please, sit down. I had the kitchen make hot tea."
Damian didn’t leave her side. He unbuttoned his dark coat, tossed it over an armchair, and sat down on the sofa right beside Anastasia.
He pulled her slightly closer, resting his arm along the back of the cushions, his heavy, grounding presence wrapping around her like an invisible shield.
Valerie poured the tea with hands that shook noticeably, handing a delicate porcelain cup to Ana before taking a seat on the opposite armchair.
"I still can’t wrap my head around it..." Valerie whispered, her voice cracking as a tear escaped down her cheek. "Two people died in Damian’s house tonight. She actually sent someone inside... and all this time, I thought she was my friend."
Ana reached forward, setting her cup on the saucer, her heart aching at the sheer devastation on Valerie’s face.
"I was such an idiot, Ana," Valerie choked out, burying her face in her trembling hands. "I was a complete fool to believe everything Vivian whispered in my ear. She used my grief against you... she made me hate you, and I blindly trusted every poisoned word that came out of her mouth."
Ana parted her lips to offer comfort, but before she could speak, Damian’s baritone cut smoothly through the room.
"Don’t beat yourself up too much, Valerie," Damian remarked, lifting his teacup with effortless calm. His dark eyes flicked from his sister and settled deliberately onto Anastasia’s face, sharp and piercing. "You’re not the only fool here who fell for Vivian’s little stories."
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